Furious Jeffrey Higgins (english love story books TXT) 📖

were to come below, I would see his legs as he mounted the steps, which would give me the opportunity to duck. In theory.

I grasped the other end of the telephone cord, with the same four colored bundles of copper wire flopping out of it. I knew nothing about the internal machinations of electronic equipment, but it seemed obvious I only had to splice the copper wires together to fix the damage.

Brad’s footsteps thumped across the deck, somewhere near the helm. I stopped and focused on the hatch.

Nothing.

I pawed at the ripped cord and tried to expose the copper wires recessed inside colored casings, but I could not get hold of them. I clawed at the rubber with my nails, but it was too thick. I lifted the knife and stuck the tip into the wire casing, but the blade was too big to fit, and it cut the copper wire.

I placed the knife on the desk and used my teeth to bite the rubber. That worked, and I pulled the coating away, exposing half an inch of wire. I nibbled at the ends of three remaining colored bundles until all the wire was visible and my mouth filled with a metallic taste.

With the cord in the wall prepared, I turned my attention to the other half dangling from the satellite phone. I had to expose those wires too.

Something bumped on the wall behind me. Brad’s footsteps clomped across the port deck. I leaned over the chart table and looked through the portholes, as Brad trudged past. I ducked and continued gnawing at the rubber. I had to hurry.

I exposed three of the wires, but the copper in the white casing had fused to the rubber and as I pulled it away, two of the four strands of copper wire broke. Would it matter? There were four bundles of four wires each, so would two broken wires on one bundle be a problem? I could not risk it.

Brad’s tramped past the portholes above the galley. He was heading back to the helm. Would he come below?

I retrieved the knife and cut two inches off the white casing. I used my teeth to open the end and exposed the wire, preparing all four bundles on both ends of the severed cord.

Brad entered the cockpit and bumped into something. He was coming. I had to stall him.

I turned to the electronics panel, charred black from the fire. Beside it was a manual switch for the navigation lights. The instruments were destroyed, but the redundant switches for the mast lights may still function.

Brad’s footsteps landed on the deck and he bumped into the cockpit table.

I flicked the switch.

Brad’s footfalls stopped. I peeked around the corner. He stood still in the companionway hatch. Had the mast lights come on? Brad turned and walked out of sight.

I lay the phone on the desk and went to work. I grabbed the copper wires from the white housing on each end of ripped cord and twirled them together. They held. I spliced the second, third, and fourth bundles together with trembling fingers.

Something banged near the main mast and Brad’s footsteps pounded along the port side, returning to the helm.

I twisted the last bundle together. Done.

Brad landed in the cockpit.

I hit the power button on the satellite phone. The screen did not illuminate. I tried the other buttons. Nothing worked. Something else must have broken inside when Brad had ripped it from the wall. I deflated, my energy and hope draining away.

Brad climbed onto the first step.

I set the phone down and ducked under the chart table, swiveling the chair to conceal myself. I pressed my fingers against the soft leather to prevent it from moving. My lips trembled.

Brads stomped down the steps and stood in the salon. His breathing came in raspy snorts, full of mucus.

“Aargh,” he shouted, his voice high and strained.

The knife.

I had forgotten the knife on the desk next to the phone. If Brad saw it and came to retrieve it, he would see me.

He walked closer, now only three feet away, and I smelled his rotten breath. He turned toward the port berth and crashed through the cabin door.

My heart raced. My body shook. The chair wobbled in front of me, but I did not dare release it for fear it would rotate and reveal me. I leaned around the chair.

Brad stood in the berth doorway, his fists balled, and his hair matted with sweat. He stared into the empty cabin and cocked his head, as if he sensed me nearby.

I glanced across the salon to starboard berth. I would have to pass Brad to get there.

I lifted one hand off the chair and reached above, probing the desk for the knife. I touched the handle and plucked at it with my fingernails.

I slid it closer until I could grab the handle. I pulled the knife down behind the chair as Brad walked back into the salon.

I tightened my grip on the handle and held my breath.

Brad rambled across the salon and into the stateroom.

Was it a trick? Was he baiting me to show myself?

I stood and hesitated. I willed myself to move. I tiptoed through the salon to the starboard berth, keeping my eyes on the stateroom door. I expected him to burst through the door and catch me, but he did not.

I entered the berth and closed myself inside the engine compartment with a loud click.

Now what?

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

I awoke from a nightmare, straining to scream, but unable to make a sound. How long had I slept? By the lack of light inside the compartment, it had to be night. The engines had been off for close to twelve hours, though it was impossible to judge the passage of time in the darkened hold. If we still floated close to the equator, the current pushed us away from the Maldives. The yacht rolled more, which meant the wind had returned. A storm could be coming. If the wind intensified,